


Yes, miss!

by starcunning



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Light BDSM, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Runar is mentioned, Shasiverse, Sokhatai is an Echo-blessed companion of the WOL, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 19:14:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20493866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starcunning/pseuds/starcunning
Summary: “I seem to recall a moon or two ago you threatened to takesomeoneover your knee for their cheekiness,” Sokhatai said.“Eavesdropping is a bad habit, you know,” Shtola said. She took another step closer, a burst of fireworks outside casting red and gold through her silvery hair.“Was itreallyeavesdropping?” Sokhatai wondered, unable to resist the temptation to press her luck. “You said it in front of all and sundry.”“And most of them,” Shtola purred, “were circumspect enough to pretend not to notice.”





	Yes, miss!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mishibear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishibear/gifts).

After the first few nights, Sokhatai had expected the mood of the Crystarium to calm once more. That had been short-sighted, she was realizing: it was not the first time darkness had fallen over the Crystal Tower, but the weeks where the night was stolen away again had felt longer for the citizens who dwelt there. Perhaps a lifetime of daylight would do that; the ignorance of why the stars had fled would only compound it. They were due a bit of celebrating, that was true. But she was due a bit of rest, and so she went to her window to close it, muting the revels that carried in the night air from the Wandering Stairs and beyond.

Besides, she thought, turning back, she had other reasons to want her privacy.

Y’shtola was idly toying with the orchestrion that sat on a shelf, and had been for some few moments. In the end she set it down again, unloaded, and the only sounds in the room were the muted, dull pops of fireworks from without and the similarly hollow sound of boot-heels on the tiles as Shtola turned about.

“When are you going back to Slitherbough?” Sokhatai asked. For all her valiant attempts, the question was not half so casual as she wanted it to be.  
“Soon enough,” the Miqo’te replied, turning her pupil-less silvery eyes on Sokhatai. “Runar is gone back already, and ’twould be remiss of me not to return to the Night’s Blessed now.” Her footsteps were soft but precise as she crossed the room.  
The Xaela lifted a hand, twining a lock of hair about one finger. Slate blue strands interwove with a deeper navy as she twisted her finger idly. “I thought,” she said, “this was their dream come true?”  
“It is,” Y’shtola said, “but the price of getting what you want is getting what once you wanted. To pursue something is different than having it.” She paused there to smile—an understated expression, for all that it changed the look of her features. “As you well know.”  
Sokhatai laughed, pulling her hand from her hair. “I guess that’s true. I wonder how things are in Ala Mhigo.”  
“I suspect our friend will tell us soon enough, when she returns from the Source,” Y’shtola said. Her assured tone put Sokhatai a bit more at ease, though it was hard not to worry—they had left Gyr Abania with only an interim government and the Garlean army on the advance. “Perhaps,” Y’shtola continued, “it is presumptuous of me to imagine I can aid them in a transition like this having only been among them a hand-span of years myself. But who would I be if I did not try?”  
“Not ‘Master Matoya,’” Sokhatai teased. She wasn’t sure if Y’shtola could see her smiling anymore, but her amusement was obvious enough in her tone. “And you can’t disappoint _Runar_ …”  
Y’shtola’s unseeing eyes narrowed, her ears swiveling backward for just a moment. “What are you implying?” she asked. Her tone was wary, though not exactly annoyed; she was putting on a more affected air.  
“Nothing,” Sokhatai said, tone airy. She tilted her head, letting her hair fall against her cheek, and folded her hands before her, an exaggerated picture of innocence to match Y’shtola’s overstated affectation. “I just know how you are when you like someone.”

Y’shtola was not the type to blush, but the way her ears perked and then pressed back betrayed her interest—and embarrassment. “Very well,” she said, heaving an exaggerated sigh. “You’ve found me out.”  
“Oh,” Sokhatai said, giggling. “And here I thought you might take umbrage at my presumption?”  
Shtola smiled, a canny expression that showed the barest flash of teeth. “Oh?” she echoed in prompting.  
“I seem to recall a moon or two ago you threatened to take _someone_ over your knee for their cheekiness,” Sokhatai said.  
“Eavesdropping is a bad habit, you know,” Shtola said. She took another step closer, a burst of fireworks outside casting red and gold through her silvery hair.  
“Was it _really _eavesdropping?” Sokhatai wondered, unable to resist the temptation to press her luck. “You said it in front of all and sundry.”  
“And most of them,” Shtola purred, “were circumspect enough to pretend not to notice.” She lifted a hand to cup Sokhatai’s chin, a fingernail tracing the black scales there. “That was weeks ago,” she added. “I suspect they’ve all forgotten.”  
“More fools they,” Sokhatai said, though the words were little more than the trembling of breath.  
“Perhaps they simply weren’t as invested,” Shtola said. Her tone took on a lofty air. “How often have you thought of this, I wonder?” she said.  
Sokhatai felt heat rise to her cheeks. “Often enough,” she said. “There wasn’t a lot of time, given everything.”  
“There is time now,” Shtola said. “Perhaps you might make your best use of it and undress.”  
“You don’t want to do it for me?” Sokhatai wheedled.  
Shtola smiled, withdrawing her hand. “No,” she said. “I want to watch.”

She withdrew from the window then, her skirt rustling as she crossed the room to drape herself across the couch set against the far wall. Shtola folded her legs up under her, the pointed toes of her boots peeking out amid the ruffles and folds of black fabric, and her sightless gaze rested on Sokhatai, expression expectant.  
There had been no call for the combat garb she usually donned, but she dressed in layers just the same—her ruffled bolero was the first to go. The ribbon tied about the collar of her blouse was the next thing she loosed, though as she stood there, idly shifting from one foot to the other, unbuttoning the pearly buttons of her blouse, she paused to wonder: “Can you see the difference?” Then she winced: Shtola’s condition was an open secret, but perhaps that question was too blunt. “Sorry. What I meant was … given everything …”  
Shtola waved it off. “’Tis a fair question,” she admitted, “with a fair answer. Yes,” she said at once. “What I see now is aether—yours and others’—and it was through my observations, in fact, that it was discovered that exposed skin merits a freer exchange. My sister was doing further research on that point—but _that_ is a discussion for another time.” Her tone was even; academic, but her gaze was fixed, ears perked with interest. “Suffice it to say that yes, it makes a difference, and I would see you undimmed.”  
For a moment more she felt foolish for having asked the question, but she did not let it stop her, untucking her blouse from the high waist of her skirt and laying it, too, aside. It was the matter of a few buttons more to strip off her skirt, and then she turned her attention from her chemise and petticoats, toeing off her shoes to stand in stocking feet.

There was a nervous sort of anticipation in the air as she continued to undress, her serpentine tail winding behind her to give vent to her excess of energy. Shtola shifted in her seat, unfolding her legs to plant her feet on the ground once more. Even as Sokhatai wriggled out of her petticoats, working them down over the swell of her stomach and her broad hips, Shtola was carefully unbuttoning her gloves and tugging them off. Sokhatai’s bloomers and chemise were easy enough to peel out of, and discarded more carelessly, but as she reached down to slip her thumbs into the hem of one of her heavy knit socks, Shtola spoke.  
“Leave them,” she said. “Come here.”

How could she disobey such a compelling voice? There was the brief flutter of butterflies in her stomach—this was not the first time the pair had come together in this way, but that nervous thrill of excitement never left her. Sokhatai crossed to the couch, and Shtola reached up with one hand, slipping it beneath the spill of her hair to curve her fingers about the nape of her neck. The other went to her shoulder, and she pulled her down—not for a kiss, as Sokhatai could not help but imagine for a moment—but to lay her across her lap.

Shtola’s robes were linen, worn to softness, though their rich black color remained. Sokhatai could feel the folds of cloth against her skin, and she shifted and settled until she found a comfortable position. It was a pleasant enough sensation, fabric skating over her breasts and stomach, but Shtola’s hand tightened briefly on her shoulder and she knew it was past time to stop fussing. Her hand trailed over Sokhatai’s back, brushing her hair aside and then tracing the column of her spine—more fingernails than anything else, and Sokhatai’s skin prickled with anticipation.

As her fingers reached the smattering of scales above her tail, the sensation changed into something a touch more distant—more pressure and warmth than the softness of Shtola’s hands. She touched the base of Sokhatai’s tail—not grabbing it, only sweeping it aside. When it came to settle at the outside of her thigh, the coil of Sokhatai’s tail laid across Shtola’s wrist.  
“Last chance,” Shtola said, less playfully than she might have.  
Sokhatai braced her feet against the floor, lifting her hips to wiggle her ass, as though daring her to try. “I’m not going to back down now.”

She liked to imagine Y’shtola smiling at that, though even if she turned her head to try and look she did not expect to be allowed to see such an expression. It didn’t dull the sting anyway, when the first blow landed. It was louder than Sokhatai had anticipated, and she jolted with surprise. Shtola’s hand at her thigh gripped her, holding her side against Shtola’s stomach, and she settled after a moment. Just when the heat and sting began to fade, her hand came down again, on the other cheek this time—fresh skin, alive to sensation and kindled to pain. Sokhatai gasped, arching, though there was no escaping the burn of her own skin. Her nipples rubbed against the soft linen of Y’shtola’s robes, the whole of her body seeming more sensitive. That pleasure commingled with the pain, and both grew sweeter for it. The reprieve did not long last, though, and Y’shtola’s pace mounted—three strikes in quick succession, each seeming to rekindle the others. She let the last blow settle, seeming to jolt through Sokhatai’s whole body—the softness of her thighs and her belly; all of her, and she could not help but shiver in response.

“Y’shtola,” she wheedled.  
“You would have me stop now?”  
Sokhatai took a moment to think about it, then shook her head—they had made the barest beginning, really. “No,” she said.  
Y’shtola hummed some soft sound of agreement and trailed her nails over the curve of Sokhatai’s ass, and she closed her eyes, breath escaping her in a low whine. She could feel the heat of her own skin, radiant, and the thin lines raked over her skin were sparks of white cut through that glow. When she took her hand away, Sokhatai almost whined.

She tensed, toes curling against the tile floor, but the blow did not fall. It was not a pose she could maintain for long, lest her feet and legs cramp, so she relaxed with a sigh, focusing on the feel of the linen against her skin, dragged over her nipples with every breath, and the solid warmth of Shtola’s body felt through the cloth—the way she set her knees to support Sokhatai’s weight, her stomach grazing her side. Sokhatai let her head drop for a moment, her hair tumbling about her face in waves, but Y’shtola tutted softly and she raised it once more, staring down at the floor.

Y’shtola caught her with the side of her hand first, palm impacting a split second later, swept from bottom to top to catch her just on the lowest curve of her ass. Sokhatai yelped—partly with surprise and partly because it was a swifter movement than the other spankings, landing on more sensitive flesh, and it _stung._ She pulled her feet up, her full weight resting across Y’shtola’s lap as she kicked at the air, as though she could simply shake off the sensation—or at least distract herself a moment. Y’shtola’s arm wrapped around her waist, her fingers sinking into the softness of Sokhatai’s belly. Held still like that, she dwelt with the pain.

When Y’shtola touched her next it was not to administer another spank. Instead she skated a finger over Sokhatai’s labia, opening her with that light touch. Sokhatai whined, wanting to push back, but that arm around her waist tightened.  
“Ah-ah,” Y’shtola said, pulling her hand away. She slapped at the top of Sokhatai’s thigh, above the hem of her socks, and Sokhatai felt the blow resound through her. Y’shtola went back to petting at the damp curls that crowned Sokhatai’s vulva, and she tried to stay still, a low whine parting her lips. She tensed again, not in anticipation but to keep herself from moving, torturous as the thought was. Shtola would find her wet, she knew, and a moment later she pressed that fingertip into her cunt, wetting it and drawing back. Her hand drifted downward, though it skated past the hood of her clit, drawing a wide half-circle around it and gliding back upward once more.  
“Y’shtola, _please!_” Sokhatai groaned.

Her only reward for that was another swift slap to the other thigh. “Behave,” Y’shtola admonished.  
“Yes, miss,” Sokhatai replied readily. She settled once more, and Y’shtola pressed two fingers into her. Sokhatai whimpered, trying to grind herself against the other woman’s lap, but there was no relief to be found.  
“Better,” Y’shtola said.

The stinging of her skin faded to something less sharp—an aching throb that seemed to mimic the pulse of her need. As Shtola buried her fingers in her cunt, it was not merely her reddening flesh that was heated. Her fingertips stroked that frontal wall, pressure deep and merciless. Sokhatai groaned, her back arching, which only made Shtola press harder. The arm across the small of her back pressed her into place across Y’shtola’s lap, and Sokhatai settled, remembering to breathe. Her tail coiled, giving vent to the sensations that threatened almost to overwhelm her.

Sokhatai took a deep breath and let it out, though it shuddered from her lungs as Y’shtola began to pump her fingers. She set an agonizingly slow pace at first, which only made Sokhatai squeal all the more as her fingertips bore down on that sweet spot. Y’shtola did not speak, but when Sokhatai was still enough, she could hear her breathing, shallower than her seeming composure might have implied. She pulled out for just a moment, and Sokhatai heard the sound of fingers brushing together. When she buried her fingers in Sokhatai’s heat once more, her thumb skated over her vulva, just barely brushing at the hood of her clit. Y’shtola’s knuckles pressed at her ass, reigniting the dull ache there, and the combined sensations made Sokhatai whimper. It could be over in seconds, she knew—if Y’shtola wanted it to be.

That didn’t seem to be the case at all. Her pace quickened, but she traced her thumb just around Sokhatai’s clit, and she trembled with need. It skated over the hood, back and forth—feather-light, barely enough to jostle her, almost indirect. Sokhatai found herself whining again, her plan to breathe steadily all but abandoned in the face of sensation. She panted instead, through gritted teeth, her plea trapped behind them.

At last the joint of Y’shtola’s thumb ground against her clit. It was almost harsh, the same way that the pressure of her fingers was a bit too sharp, but it paired well with the ache of her flesh, sharpening her pleasure like salt intensified flavors.  
“I want to hear you,” Shtola said, and that was permission enough. Sokhatai let the sensations rise up and take her over, all but drowning in them, her walls clasping at Y’shtola’s fingers. Her back arched, and every heaving breath rasped her nipples against soft cloth, making her shiver anew. Sokhatai whimpered her lover’s name, over and over, the only word she knew, the only thought she had to express what she felt, eyes clenched shut, muscles tensing. Through it all Y’shtola never stopped, not until Sokhatai went slack atop her lap, spent and aching. She could feel the movement of the air in the room on her exposed pussy and the inside of her thighs, cool in contrast to her heated flesh.

Shtola unwrapped her arm from around her waist, petting at her hair instead. “You did very well,” she said.  
“Thank you, miss,” Sokhatai replied. She did not relish the idea of sitting up just yet, so she simply laid there across Shtola’s lap, letting her card her fingers through her hair. Shtola’s other hand molded to the curve of her ass, rubbing lightly at her skin—probably flushed and darker than the usual grey. It was certainly still sensitive, and she groaned softly. Y’shtola ran the nail of her thumb along the curve of Sokhatai’s horn. Although she couldn’t really feel the touch, Shtola had learned just where to stroke to make the vibration of nail against scale resound as a pleasant hum. When Sokhatai sighed with contentment, it was nearly the same tone. After a long few moments, Shtola helped her up. Sokhatai stood, shifting from one foot to the other to try and find a comfortable position to stand.

She forgot about the lingering ache of her bottom, however, as she watched Shtola lift her hand to her mouth, licking and sucking her fingers clean. The way she smiled around them proved she was not oblivious to the effect the sight had on Sokhatai—perhaps her strangled little sound gave her away, or else it had some aetherial effect on her she hadn’t known about. Either way, those silver eyes never left her, and Sokhatai felt the flush spread from cheeks to chest, until her skin felt almost as hot as her ass just after that spanking.

Shtola stood a moment later, reaching out to take Sokhatai’s face in her hands. Compared to that gentle touch her kiss was fiercer, hurried and hot, and Sokhatai could taste herself on her lover’s lips. Sokhatai had learned to be careful of her horns, but Shtola was used to considering them, tipping her head to one side so she was less likely to be prodded accidentally. Winding her arms around Shtola’s waist, Sokhatai pulled her in, the warmth of her svelte frame welcome.

“You may help me undress now,” Shtola said a moment later, and she drew away a step so that she could turn around in Sokhatai’s arms. The fur of her collar tickled at Sokhatai’s chest as she did, and her tail batted lightly at her legs.

Shtola’s robes were not as simple as the ones Tataru had made for her all that time before—Sokhatai had gotten used to those, and rather apt at removing them, when the time came. These were complicated, bound with stays and laces, and it took her a moment to know where to begin. She elected then to start with the silvery clasp at the knob of her spine. It was skin-warm, and for a moment she understood Thancred’s old verses about longing to be some handsome dandy’s glove—she had always dismissed such a notion as rather trite. Still, as the clasp fell open, she could not help but to lean in and press a careful kiss to her skin, just where the silver had laid against it.

She lifted her head to see Shtola unclasping the brooch at her throat, lifting her chin. Her soft hair tickled at Sokhatai’s cheek, ears pressed back with the effort of concentration. Sokhatai smiled a little to herself, and set to work loosening the laces in the back—unknotting the bow tied just above the base of Shtola’s tail and then plucking at the loops. Her fingernails grazed Shtola’s skin; not harshly, just a feather-light sort of touch.

The robes sagged after a moment, and Sokhatai slid her hands under the white fur of its collar, letting her fingers mold to the slope of Shtola’s shoulders. The neck of the gown gaped, and Shtola pulled her arms free, Sokhatai’s fingers sliding over soft skin. Under the weight of fur and metal, the linen was pulled down over Shtola’s hips, her tail slipping free as the robes pooled at her feet. She wore a simple breast band underneath, and brief shorts for modesty’s sake—the real trouble was the boots. Sokhatai crossed to stand in front of her.  
Gesturing down, she said, “May I?” Shtola only nodded, so she sank to her knees. Remembering just in time not to sit back, Sokhatai settled in that upright kneeling pose, undoing the buckles that held the boots in place just over the other woman’s knees. There was a bit of a lip where her skin met leather, the boots squeezing at her soft thighs just slightly. It was a small detail, but it pleased Sokhatai to notice. She wondered for a moment whether Shtola noticed the same—the little squish of her thighs against her socks. Probably, she decided, though she couldn’t help but think that the contrast between her undimmed aether and the veiled sight of her in her socks was a pleasant sight, too.

As Sokhatai slipped off Shtola’s boots and the socks beneath, Shtola skimmed out of her breast band. She shook her head so that her hair would fall back into place, silver locks interplaying with iridescent feathers. Her breasts were a modest handful, perky, her nipples pebbled and drawn up taut, and Sokhatai wanted desperately to put her mouth on them. Shtola reached down and buried her fingers in Sokhatai’s thick hair, running her digits through it and then cupping her chin, dark locks pressed against her palm. Sokhatai stood, reaching out to rest her hands on Y’shtola’s hips.

Shtola’s hands came to cover her own, and with their fingers intertwined they peeled the dark cloth down over the curve of her ass, letting it bunch around her thighs and then fall at last to join the rest of her discarded clothing. Shtola stepped out of the heap of linen, turning away. Her tail caught the curve of Sokhatai’s stomach, the soft fur almost tickling her, and she bit back a giggle.

Shtola perched on the edge of the mattress a moment later, her long legs stretched out before her, toes pointed, her head tilted in a way that betrayed her anticipation. Sokhatai closed the distance with trotting steps, and Shtola reached out to wind her arms around her waist, kissing at the swell of her stomach. That tickled too, and Sokhatai squirmed, though not to escape. Shtola pulled Sokhatai with her as she reclined, and soon they laid side by side atop the duvet, Sokhatai nuzzling at her lover’s neck. She lipped down over her throat, kissing at her collarbone, and put a hand to Shtola’s shoulder, rolling her to her back.

Shtola allowed this, stretching out with a languid sigh. “If I didn’t know any better,” she said, “I’d think you were avoiding something.”  
Sokhatai only laughed, her breath damp against Shtola’s skin. “Not forever,” she said, shifting about to kneel straddling Y’shtola’s leg. She swept a hand up along Shtola’s side, fondling her breast, and bent to kiss its curve. The tips of her horns trailed over Shtola’s body—there was no avoiding that, but she was careful so that it was a feather-light touch, like the tracing of nails. Her breath rushed over Shtola’s nipple, and she heard the other woman groan, shifting slightly to press against Sokhatai’s thigh.

It was impossible to ignore the warmth and wet of Y’shtola’s cunt against her skin, which sent a surge of desire through her. That only made her more eager, so she laved her tongue, flat and soft, over Shtola’s nipple. A little murmur rose in the other woman’s throat, her hand finding the base of Sokhatai’s neck, fingers tangled in her hair. The slight pressure of her fingers held Sokhatai in place, and she swirled her tongue over that pebbled nipple, sucking it into her mouth. Shtola groaned, back arching, their bodies pressed together. Her arm encircled Sokhatai’s waist, as though she needed the leverage to grind against her thigh. Sokhatai let the very tip of her tongue trace the other woman’s breastbone—feather-light, so that her horns wouldn’t touch—and felt Shtola’s hand tighten in her hair. She turned her head to flick her tongue over the other nipple, and simply relished the way that Shtola moved against her.

Sokhatai shifted her thigh back just for a second, and the growl that followed that movement was frustrated enough to make her shiver. Quickly she slipped her hand between their bodies—as she had always intended—and slid her knee up once more. Shtola wriggled her hips, and when she found the position she liked she wrapped her legs around Sokhatai’s thigh. Those legs locked around her, heels pressed against either side of her calf. When she bent her head to suck a nipple into her mouth, tip of her tongue tracing along its rim, those legs clamped tighter and Shtola bucked her hips, her clit settled in the groove between two fingers. Those little sighs blossomed into throatier moans, rising in pitch.

Sokhatai ran her teeth lightly over Shtola’s nipple, drawing back off it with a soft pop, and in response, Y’shtola pulled her head down to her skin once more. Sokhatai let her breath run over the other woman’s skin before molding her lips to her once more.

Her fingers were slick, smeared with the evidence of Shtola’s mounting arousal. “You’re going to have to let me move sooner or later,” Sokhatai pointed out, watching goosebumps rise on Shtola’s skin in the wake of her breath like wind winnowing through long grass.  
“Already working on earning your _next_ spanking, I see,” Shtola said, though her dry tone was undercut somewhat by her breathlessness. But she relaxed her legs a moment later so that Sokhatai could slide down the length of her body, kissing at her stomach. Shtola was still, careful of her horns, so Sokhatai lifted her hand to stroke at her clit. She kept her touch light, not quite a tease. Shtola spread her thighs, and Sokhatai tipped her head just so, and soon she could taste Shtola’s arousal with every breath. Bent as she was, it drew her skin taut over her aching bottom. The pain had dulled to become little more than a welcome reminder, so Sokhatai was happy to rest her chest on the bed, ass higher in the air. Sokhatai paused there a moment to look up the line of Y’shtola’s body, drinking in the sight of her.

She smiled, and then leaned down to let that grin brush over Shtola’s skin, kissing the inside of her thigh. She was unhurried as she moved upward, inward, nipping lightly at that soft flesh. The heat of her was palpable against Sokhatai’s cheek, but she didn’t dive in just yet, nuzzling at her mound, kissing her way over her vulva. Sokhatai buried her nose in the thatch of wiry silver hair as she went, allowing the musky scent of her to wash over her. She planted one last kiss at the innermost ilm of Shtola’s thigh, and the miqo’te groaned, lifting her hips gently. When Sokhatai pulled away it was met with a noise of protest, but she put her hands on the inside of Shtola’s knees, sweeping upward with her touch until they rested just at the apex of Shtola’s thighs, thumbs petting lightly at her skin.

When she leaned in again, the tips of her horns grazed the backs of her palms, but Sokhatai continued on undeterred. Shtola’s flesh was slick and hot already from the way she had frotted herself against Sokhatai’s leg not so long before. The Xaela laved her tongue over her lover’s labia, bottom to top, the taste of her pooling on her tongue. She repeated the same long, slow lick on the other side, and lipped over her cunt a moment later, kissing every inch of her and sucking at her skin as though desperate for that taste.

Perhaps she was, too; her tail coiled behind her, sweeping through the air almost restlessly. Sokhatai ran her thumb down over Shtola’s outer lips, gently pulling to one side to urge her open. Pointing her tongue she traced the frill of her inner labia, and heard Shtola groan softly above her. She couldn’t help but smile then, tipping her chin to make more solid contact with long, slow licks. Sokhatai groaned, the sound muffled, and a moment later it was answered by a rising moan. Shtola braced her heels against the bed, rocking her hips lightly to press against her lover’s mouth.

Shtola was so restrained in the day-to-day—so careful not to let too much show. Sokhatai paused a moment to simply revel in the way she reacted, breath rasping out of her, her hands sliding down to knot her fingers in Sokhatai’s hair. She did not pull, but the simple pressure was enough to urge Sokhatai forward, wriggling atop the bed to find a more comfortable position. She gripped Shtola’s thighs more tightly for just a moment, burying her nose in the miqo’te’s curls. The tip of her tongue traced over the hood of Shtola’s clit, and she clamped her thighs around Sokhatai’s head.

It pressed her hands too hard against her horns, so she worked one free, listening carefully though all sound was muffled. Shtola made no protest, only groaned, and so Sokhatai pulled the other loose as well. She curled one arm around the outside of those taut thighs, as much for purchase as anything else, and let her tongue dip into Shtola’s entrance, teasing at her opening for just a moment. The answering moan was muted now, but the way the miqo’te’s tail lashed and batted at Sokhatai’s arm was signal enough.

She ran a fingertip along the other woman’s folds, letting her honey slicken it once more, and teased her open. It slid into her readily, and Sokhatai could feel the way she clenched around it, seeming desperate for that stimulation. Sokhatai’s smile stretched around her tongue as she traced her way back up, drawing lazy zig-zags. She let the tip catch at Shtola’s clit directly and felt the other woman shudder. Sokhatai molded her lips to it, and was rewarded with a moan audible even clamped as she was between those thighs. She pressed her own thighs together in reply, a surge of pain radiating from her sore backside as she tensed. That only made her moan in turn, breath rushing hot over Shtola’s cunt.

Sokhatai pumped that finger against her as she kissed and teased at her clit, and Shtola’s fingers worked and tugged through her hair. When she pressed her nails to the scalp, Sokhatai went still, save to tap her fingertip against that spot on her walls. Y’shtola actually _mewled_ in reply, and that made her want to laugh—but she didn’t dare, not then.

She opened her mouth instead, sucking her clit into it, tracing it with the tip of her tongue as she trapped it there between her lips. Shtola squeezed at her head with both thighs, and Sokhatai shifted her grasp to let go of her lover’s leg, molding her grasp to the curve of her hip instead, the nail of her thumb tracing the slope where leg and hip met. It was a sensitive spot for her, Sokhatai knew, and surely enough, Shtola arched from the bed, bucking and grinding against her face.

Sokhatai slipped a second finger into that needy cunt, fingers bent to beckon as she stroked over that single, precious ilm. Distantly she could hear the rising pitch of Shtola’s moans, and let it stoke her in turn, feeling just as desperate then as she had the moments before her own orgasm. Shtola’s thighs were taut, pressed in tight around her to the point of trembling, her hips lifted and abs clenched so that her ass no longer rested on the bed, her tail brushing at Sokhatai’s arm. Then Sokhatai felt her shudder, her cunt clutching desperately at those fingers, and when Sokhatai looked up the line of her body, Shtola’s head was thrown back, one hand pressed to her own chest.

She backed off slowly, and Shtola shivered, a lesser aftershock to the orgasm that had come before. When Shtola dropped to the bed once more and let her legs fall, Sokhatai drew back, licking her lips. There were soft impressions on the inside of Shtola’s thighs, following the ridged scale patterns of her horns, and Sokhatai turned her head to kiss one. Shtola murmured in reply.

“Come here,” she said then, and Sokhatai was eager to obey that too. She crawled over the bed to lean over Shtola’s spent form, and the miqo’te draped her arms about her shoulders, drawing her down. Then she rolled onto her side and pressed Sokhatai to her back. It felt almost like she could draw the weft of the blankets just by their impressions against her ass, and she let out a little whimper. Shtola laughed, leaning in to kiss her, slow and lingering. Sokhatai settled her arms around her shoulders, enjoying the feel of their bodies pressed together—the squish of her soft belly, the way Shtola’s legs interlaced with her own.

“Perhaps you should come back with me to Slitherbough,” she said after a moment, licking at her lips.  
“I can’t imagine why you would want that,” Sokhatai said, laughing.  
Shtola smiled, but she did arch a brow: “You really are intent on collecting infractions.”  
“Well, I imagine you’ve had plenty of time to think about what sort of punishments you could dole out …”  
“And I have plenty of time to administer them,” Shtola said. She laid her head against Sokhatai’s shoulder. “Don’t overdo it.”  
“No promises,” Sokhatai told her, and their laughter rang out, commingling with the celebrations outside.


End file.
